


call my name (when you know it's time)

by dansunedisco



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Implied Lydia Martin/Others, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Past Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Sex Toys, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Inexperience, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:49:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4042888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She has a fake ID burning in her purse and Lydia’s hand in hers as they cross the parking lot to The Pink Banana. It’s a nondescript building on the corner of a busy intersection, the gaudy sign outside the only indication that it’s anything but a small business.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	call my name (when you know it's time)

**Author's Note:**

> Best friends having sex, basically.
> 
> Also: tropes, tropes, everywhere.

She has a fake ID burning in her purse and Lydia’s hand in hers as they cross the parking lot to _The Pink Banana_. It’s a nondescript building on the corner of a busy intersection, the gaudy sign outside the only indication that it’s anything but a small business.

They drove two counties over at Allison’s insistence to get here (because there’s _no way_ she’s getting caught outside a sex toy shop by anyone who might recognize and judge her). But now that they’re here, she’s starting to sweat. It’s not that she’s a prude. She’s masturbated before, fooled around with a few guys back in San Francisco, but—well, what Lydia suggested she buy wasn’t exactly Sex Toys 101.

“You need a vibrator,” Lydia said, scrolling through the Toys in Babeland website, tilting her head left and right like she can suss out their orgasmic capabilities via the screen. “Or a dildo. Both? This one looks like it could hit your g-spot and clit at the same time.”

Allison almost swallowed her tongue that weekend, hearing her best friend talk about anatomy like it wasn’t a big deal at all. To Lydia, it probably wasn’t. She’s never been shy when it comes to divulging her sexual experiences. It makes Allison’s stomach swim with something she’s sure is jealousy. Teenaged girls aren’t supposed to throw you a wink after talking about a blowjob, or moan about the “best head” she’s ever received. But Lydia does. Allison, on the other hand, has never had an orgasm that’s made her want to sing its praises from the rooftops. In fact, she’s not entirely sure that she’s actually _had_ one.

“What if they can tell the ID’s a fake?” she asks when Lydia’s two seconds from pulling her through the black-tinted doors.

“Maybe they’ll call the cops,” Lydia replies, lips curling up into a condescending smile. “I’d be alright with Sheriff Stilinski putting handcuffs on me.”

“He’s—“ _old enough to be your dad_ , she chokes off the rest of her sentence because whatever, older guys are in, even if they’re the father of your sort-of boyfriend’s best friend. Besides, they aren’t in Beacon County anymore.

The store is brightly lit inside and not nearly as scandalous as Allison had imagined. There’s a huge display case of lube (who knew there were so many kinds?); an entire section dedicated to dress-up and roleplay outfits; more DVDs than she can count in one go, and shelves upon shelves of toys. Anal beads, butt plugs, dildos, vibrators, strap-ons, things she’s not quite sure _what_ they do. She grabs one off the middle shelf, giggles a bit when she reads the description.

“What’s this—“ she half-turns, but Lydia’s no longer next to her, instead talking with the girl behind the counter. She bites her lip and puts the toy back, suddenly feeling shy, the hilarity of the situation fading away to nervous uncertainty. Sure, she can recognize it’s a little weird that she needs Lydia’s approval on what she’ll be using to pleasure herself with, but these toys are expensive and she’s not nearly as experienced as she thinks she should be to make a fifty dollar plus purchase.

She’s still aimlessly browsing when Lydia slides up next to her.

“Made a decision?” she asks, all business. 

Allison points to a thin pink vibrator, and then to a thicker dildo. She honestly can’t tell the difference in any single toy. Lydia was the one who did all the research. Allison just agreed to come. “I’m not sure,” she says. “Both of them vibrate.” 

Lydia huffs and tugs her by the elbow to another row. “This one vibrates, too,” she says, handing Allison a plastic-sealed package labeled The Boss Lady. It’s about twenty dollars more than she’s willing to pay, but she ends up walking out of store with it anyway.

They go to the mall afterwards, and she convinces Lydia to drop her ‘cleanse’ for Jamba Juice. “It’s healthy,” she says, and then promises to wake Lydia up tomorrow morning for a run through the Preserve when they end up getting Cinnabon, too. It’s a good way to round off the day, she thinks, and it’s almost enough for her to forget that she has a little black bag under the passenger seat of Lydia’s car waiting for her.

 

 

Lydia drops her off just before curfew, and waggles her fingers in a wave as she drives away, probably immensely proud of being the catalyst to Allison’s newest sexual awakening. 

She spends a little bit of time hanging out with her parents after she’s dutifully hid her contraband (in the small cut-out in the box spring because she’s pretty sure her mom knows about the fake-bottom in the dresser), a strange sense of anticipation following her around the rest of the night. She feigns a headache after family movie night, and retreats to her room. She locks her door and heaves the mattress up to get to the toy. She sets it on her bedspread and just stares at it, feeling oddly aroused by the _idea_ of using it. She’s felt this way before, but usually after a lot of making out—and even then, not this much.

Still, she can’t bring herself to use the toy while her parents are in the house, each creak and sigh of the house sending her heart racing. She hides it again, and eventually falls into a restless, unsatisfying sleep after hours of tossing and turning.

The next morning, she shows up at Lydia’s front door as promised.

“I didn’t _actually_ expect you to come,” Lydia snaps, but she slips into a pair of running shoes anyway.

They take an easy pace through the woods, Lydia grumbling the entire way. It’s a nice, cool morning, and neither of them are sweaty enough by the end of the run to avoid the coffee shop when they swing through town.

“So?” Lydia asks, after they’ve both showered and changed.

Allison’s lying on Lydia’s bed in a borrowed outfit, flipping through a Vogue and waiting for Lydia to finish her hair and makeup. She looks up, confused. “So what?”

She sighs, and dabs some concealer under her eyes. “How was it?”

“Oh,” she breathes, flushing lightly as she meets Lydia’s smirking gaze in the vanity mirror. “I didn’t use it.”

Lydia’s smirk turns scandalized. “Why the hell not?” She whirls around on the bench seat.

“It wasn’t the right time,” she says with a half-shrug, because she doesn’t want to admit that she was too freaked out to use it because she wasn’t one hundred percent alone. “I’m touched you care, though.”

Lydia rolls her eyes, but she drops the subject.

 

 

It takes two weeks before Allison works up the courage to move the mattress aside again, mostly because her parents are out and emphatically told her they wouldn’t be back until late morning.

She swallows thickly, running her hand along the toy’s smooth surface. It has a little give when she squeezes, and she wonders what it’ll feel like inside of her, low-level arousal pooling between her thighs. She lies back in bed, pulls her sleep shorts off and stares up into the dark for a long moment before she brings the toy between her legs. She turns it onto its lowest vibrating setting and chokes back a gasp at how it feels against her.

It doesn’t take long before she’s rubbing it shamelessly against herself, still too nervous to go any further than that, but it doesn’t get any better than _pretty good_. She wants fireworks, she wants—

She wants what Lydia’s always talking about.

She closes her eyes and slows down, thinks of Scott and his crooked smile, but thinking of his fingers slipping between her folds doesn’t feel right. She sighs, and blinks out of the fantasy. She turns the toy off and reaches for her phone, sending a passive aggressive text to Lydia before she can process how maybe texting your best friend after an unsuccessful masturbation session could be viewed as wildly inappropriate.

She’s making herself a midnight snack when the doorbell rings, and Allison’s mind jumps to the worst conclusion it could be, but it’s only Lydia on the other side.

She lets out a relieved, if irritated, breath. “I thought you were the police!”

“I sent you a text,” Lydia says, and shoulders her way inside and heads for the stairs. “You coming?”

Allison leaves her chips and dip on the counter, wordlessly trailing after Lydia, only just remembering that she most definitely left the dildo right on the bed a second before Lydia helps herself to the light switch.

“Um—“ she says, and makes a vague _sorry_ gesture when Lydia turns to her with eyebrows raised. She doesn’t have anything to feel bad about, anyhow. Lydia invited herself over. She goes to put it away, refusing to feel even a shred of embarrassment, when Lydia just flops over onto the bed and picks up the toy by the handle, flicking between the settings like it’s a totally normal thing to do.

“What are you doing?” she chokes out.

“You sent me a super rude text in the middle of the night calling my taste in sex toys abysmal,” she says lightly.

“So?”

“So I’m here to fix it.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s working just fine.” It’s buzzing pretty noisily in Lydia’s hand, anyway.

Lydia’s response is to pat the bed with her free hand and say, “User error,” with every ounce of smart-than-you she possesses.

And—what? Allison’s frozen in place, wondering what game Lydia’s playing at this time, but the redhead only looks at her expectantly. Like she really expects Allison to lie down in bed with her. Like she expects to _help_ Allison figure out what she’s doing wrong. The idea’s insane, is what it is, but—maybe? 

“Lydia,” she says, and wets her lips for a second because _what._ “I mean, I… I appreciate the offer, but—doesn’t this seem kind of… weird to you?“

“Not really,” she says, but turns the toy off anyway. “But if you don’t want to, that’s cool, too.”

It’s such a Lydia thing to do, Allison thinks. To come over in the middle of the night to casually coach Allison through an orgasm because she’s _irked_ her choice didn’t cut it, and then drop the subject like it’s nothing. But—now that she’s thinking about it, the idea of Lydia between her thighs doesn’t seem so strange. She shakes the thought away before it can fully form.

“Are you staying over?” she asks, and crawls into bed beside Lydia when she answers in the affirmative. It’s not weird. Allison thinks maybe it should be, but it’s just—not. 

They watch a few episodes of Sex and the City, and eat nearly an entire bag of chips between them before they agree to call it a night.

Allison rolls onto her side after turning out the lights. Lydia turns to face her a minute later, close enough that their knees knock together. Allison can barely make out her features in the dark, the glow from the streetlamps outside illuminating her hair and her cheekbone, and it’s almost too easy to move in and press her lips against Lydia’s. Lydia kisses back, slow and languid. She tastes like chapstick and spearmint.

The soft kissing takes a turn for the heated when Lydia slips her tongue in Allison’s mouth, and Allison rolls onto her back a second later, tilts her head back when Lydia moves to kiss her, open-mouthed and hot, against her neck. They kiss and kiss, time slippery and inconsequential, until Allison’s sure she’s ready to burn up and turn to ash under Lydia’s touch.

Lydia’s voice is hushed against Allison’s collarbone when she asks, “Can I show you?” 

Allison drops her knees to the side; moans when Lydia settles between them. “ _Yes_ ,” anything, she thinks. 

She’s never been eaten out before, and Lydia’s never mentioned giving it, but it feels fantastic; so much better than her hands, or the toy, and it seems like only minutes pass by before she’s a shaking mess as Lydia tongues her clit and crooks a finger inside of her. She’s still too wired to come, but she’s _right there_ on the edge, panting helplessly as she tries to ride Lydia’s face to completion. 

But instead of giving Allison what she wants, Lydia pulls back in increments, until she’s just sucking a bruise onto Allison’s thigh and rubbing teasing circles above her clit. Allison has to bite back a groan at every pass, and finally fumbles for the toy that she threw carelessly into the nightstand drawer. 

“Please,” she asks, and cries out when the tip of the toy is pressed against her entrance.

Lydia teases slowly, and crawls up Allison’s body to capture her mouth in a sloppy kiss, all the while playing the cruelest game of push and pull. It goes on and on until Allison’s trembling, ready to beg for the ending. Finally, Lydia presses the toy all the way inside, only to pull it halfway out, tilting the toy and rubbing against something inside of Allison that makes her toes curl and back arch. Stars burst behind her clenched eyelids a second later and she feels the beginning of the buildup she’s been waiting for.

“Oh my god,” she moans, clutching the sheets above her head, falling apart with a silent scream when Lydia turns the vibration on. She gasps and pants, riding the toy and kissing Lydia’s mouth, coasting on a high she’s definitely never felt before until it’s too much.

Lydia brushes Allison’s bangs away from her forehead afterwards. They’re cuddled up, thighs locked together. “How was that?”

She turns her laugh into the pillow. “Unexpected.”

“Good,” she replies, and then presses a soft kiss to Allison’s lips. “I like unexpected.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry not sorry?


End file.
